


Gone with the Sin

by tirsynni



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Adult Content, Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirsynni/pseuds/tirsynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armor wasn’t supposed to bleed. It didn’t change the fact that Alphonse was lying still as death in a pool of blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone with the Sin

Armor didn’t bleed.

It cracked. It shattered. It broke and broke Edward’s world along with it, but it didn’t bleed.

So why was Alphonse lying in a pool of blood?

“Al?” he whispered, voice breaking on that one syllable. The armor wasn’t cracked. There was no visible damage.

But only shadows peered at Edward from the armor’s helmet, and Alphonse didn’t reply.

“Al?” Edward croaked, crawling forward. When had he fallen to his knees? Why was he on his knees? Why was Alphonse on his back? _Where was the blood coming from?_

Alphonse was on an alchemy sigil. That had to mean something that had to mean something but what and why hadn’t Al answered yet? Al always answered, even if it was only an exasperated groan.

The blood stained Edward’s gloves, his pants, as he crawled closer. The armor was frightening still, and Edward grabbed one metal arm, shaking lightly.

Edward, honey, what is it?

I…ah, Al had a bad dream, Mom. Can we stay with you tonight?

Edward choked on a sob, shaking Al’s arm harder, hearing metal scrape against metal. _Al needs oil. He’ll be fine. Just needs oil. Have to get him out of the blood. He’ll rust!_

The black sigil stunningly stood out against the crimson pool. Edward tried not to look at it, terrified of what he would see.

“C’mon, Al,” Edward managed, shaking his arm again. “Don’t be lazy. Get up.”

Get up get up get up get up.

Strong arms grabbed Edward around his waist, pulling him back. Blood dripped from Edward’s clothes, plopping wetly in the puddle.

“Let me go,” Edward chanted, reaching for Alphonse’s still form. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!”

The sigil began to glow under Alphonse’s body, blazing white, burning up the blood. The crimson steamed, the copper scent overpowering. Alphonse never moved.

“ _Alphonse!_ ” Edward screamed.

“Fullmetal!” The familiar voice was like a whip cracking, but Edward barely heard it. All he could see was white, the world blazing around him, Alphonse burning behind his eyes.

“ _Fullmetal!_ ”

And the white was gone. Only darkness remained, and now someone was shaking him. He struck out blindly, only to have his fist caught. It occurred to him belatedly that he punched with his left hand. What had happened to his right? His automail would force anyone away.

“Edward.” The voice was low, insistent, the only noise in the dark beside Edward’s harsh breathing. It took Edward a moment to recognize it. He held himself still, swallowing once before he could bring himself to speak.

“Mustang?”

He still couldn’t hear Al. Edward strained his ears to hear his little brother. Nothing. He strained his eyes to see. Nothing. Was he blind?

Alchemy. Equivalent exchange. _Blooddeathdarknessfear._

Edward couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t remember…he couldn’t remember what sigil it was…why Alphonse had been on the ground…why he had been crawling…

“Edward.” Mustang again, gentler this time. Something rough touched his chin, moved his head. Mustang’s special gloves. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

He breathed and breathed and the darkness faded. Mustang’s hands were cupping his face, gloves scratching his cheeks. Edward saw Mustang’s mouth, pursed in a familiar frown. He saw Mustang’s cheeks, pale, only the pink of those frowning lips giving his face any color at all.

Edward’s eyes still weren’t working right. For a moment, Mustang’s eyes looked white.

“Better, Fullmetal?” Mustang asked, voice still gentle. His hands fell from Edward’s face to his waist, as if holding him still. It was for the best, Edward admitted grudgingly to himself. He wasn’t feeling really steady at the moment.

Edward breathed a moment longer before answering. As he did so, he let himself look around the room.

No, not a room. A dungeon of faded gray stone. Edward frowned. He saw no doors, no windows. More importantly…

“Where’s Alphonse?” he demanded, whirling back on Mustang. Fuck, he wanted to punch that smile off his damned face. Stupid fucking gentle condescending --

“Dead, Fullmetal. Don’t you remember?”

Edward froze. “What?” he whispered. For a moment, all he could seetastefeelsmell was blood.

Mustang’s smile didn’t change, didn’t waver. It took Edward to realize Mustang’s hands were moving, sliding up, down, up, down, pushing under Edward’s clothes to reach his flesh.

The gloves were gone. Mustang’s hands were ice-cold.

“Dead, Fullmetal,” Mustang repeated, voice soft. “They’re all dead.

“And so are you.”

Edward stared blankly at him, stunned golden eyes meeting white. Mustang never stopped smiling.

“I guess they could be alive,” Mustang continued, strangely conversational. Only those cold hands lent Edward any awareness of his own body, of the fact that his sleeve dangled uselessly on his right side. “But you’re never going to know.”

Edward opened his mouth -- to argue, to scream, to bite and snarl and hiss, he didn’t know -- but Mustang leaned down and silenced him with his mouth. His tongue was frigid and thick in Edward’s mouth. All he could taste was blood.

_They’re all beyond the Gate now._

_And you’re stuck in Hell._

Now Edward knew what to do. Uncaring of the blood trickling from his mouth, of Mustang still kissing him with that corpse-tongue, he screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

“Edward! Edward!”

Pain flashed through his cheek, and the sensation of cold hands on his skin faded. He opened his eyes with a strangled scream.

Alfons hovered over him, blue eyes wide. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “You were screaming.”

Edward licked his lips, taking a second to look around. Right. Right. Where else had he expected to be.

…Where _had_ he expected to be?

“I’m fine,” he dismissed. His throat felt sore, and he absently rubbed it. He should have drank more water before he went to bed. “I was screaming?”

Alfons stared at him, the concern in his blue eyes bothering Edward. He looked away. “Edward, that’s --”

“I’m fine,” Edward cut off. “Go back to sleep.” Silence answered, and he cleared his throat. “Um, thanks for waking me up.”

Alfons squeezed his shoulder once before walking away. Edward didn’t watch him go, instead lying back down and staring at the wall.

Cold hands settled on his waist. “Sweet dreams,” a familiar voice breathed.


End file.
